American Empire: Blood and Iron - By Harry Turtledove Page 0,74

not as good as it was, but it’s not as bad as it was, either.”

He hadn’t had a son killed. He could afford to say things like that. McGregor had, and couldn’t. He started to head out the door, then checked himself. Gibbon might not know good and bad from the man in the moon, but he heard all the gossip there was to hear in Rosenfeld. “Has Wilf Rokeby got it straight? Is some fellow coming up from the United States to put out a paper here?”

“That’s what I’ve heard, anyway,” Gibbon answered. “Be right good to let folks know every week that I’m still alive and still in business.”

“But a Yank,” McGregor said. The storekeeper shrugged again. The notion didn’t bother him. As long as he got his advertisements in the newspaper, he couldn’t have cared less what else went in.

With a grunt, McGregor picked up the can of kerosene and went back out into the cold. He started across the street. A motorcar’s horn blared at him. He froze like a deer—he hadn’t paid the least attention to traffic. If the automobile hadn’t been able to stop in time, it would have run him down.

It halted with its front bumper inches from him. It was a big open touring car, with a U.S. soldier who looked very cold driving and two men in buffalo robes and fur hats in the back seat. One of them looked older than God, with a beaky nose projecting from a wrinkled face. “Jesus Christ, I wanted to see what one of these little towns looked like,” he said, his voice American-accented. “I didn’t aim to kill anybody while I was doing it.”

“Sorry, General Custer, sir,” the driver said. His greatcoat didn’t offer him nearly the protection from the bitter winter chill that a buffalo robe would have done.

“I think your wife had the right idea, sir,” the younger man in back said. He was a porky fellow, porky enough that his blubber probably helped keep him warm. “You might have done better to stay on the train till we got up to Winnipeg.”

“I’m supposed to be in charge of things,” the old man said querulously. “How can I be in charge of things if I don’t see for myself what the hell I’m in charge of?” He shook a mittened fist at McGregor. “What are you standing there for, you damn fool? Get out of the way!”

McGregor unfroze and took a few steps forward. The motorcar shot past him with a clash of gears; its tires spat snow up into his face. He stared after it. He’d learned about General Custer in school. During the Second Mexican War, he’d beaten General Gordon’s British and Canadian army down in Montana, beaten it after the USA had agreed to a cease-fire. McGregor had assumed he was long dead till his name started cropping up in war news.

And now he was coming to Canada to be in charge of things? And not just to Canada but to Winnipeg, only a couple of days to the north even by wagon? McGregor hurried back to the wagon. Purpose had indeed leaked out of his life after he’d avenged himself on Major Hannebrink. Now, suddenly, it was back. This time, he wouldn’t just be avenging himself. He’d be avenging his whole country.

Nellie Jacobs yawned, right in the middle of business hours. Edna laughed at her. “This is a coffeehouse, Ma,” Nellie’s daughter said. “If you’re sleepy, pour yourself a cup.”

“I’ve been drinking it all day long.” Nellie punctuated her reply with another yawn. “I don’t want another cup right now.” She hesitated and lowered her voice so the couple of customers in the place wouldn’t hear: “It hasn’t tasted quite right, anyway. Did we get a bad batch of beans?”

“I don’t think so,” Edna Semphroch answered, also quietly. “Tastes fine to me. Nobody’s said anything about it, either, unless somebody went and complained to you.”

“No,” Nellie admitted. She yawned again. “Goodness! I can’t hold my eyes open. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to go upstairs and lie down for a while.”

Edna said, “Sure, go ahead, Ma. Leave me with all the work.” Maybe she was joking. On the other hand, maybe she wasn’t.

In the end, Nellie didn’t go upstairs. A few more customers had come in, and sticking Edna with all of them didn’t seem fair. She got through the day, though by the end of it she felt as if she had a